The Inevitability of Us
by kjewls
Summary: Don's getting pressure from his coworkers to fix things between him and Sloan. Now, if he could just get her to talk to him. Don / Sloan One-shot with some Will / Mac thrown in. Takes place a few weeks after the finale. Works as a prequel to my other D/S story "My Favorite Mistake."


Don had been looking at Sloan a lot lately . . . some might say _staring_. There he'd be, going about his day, just minding his own business, when he'd notice that his eyes had, once again, wandered toward her. Most of the time, she wasn't doing anything particularly noteworthy. She might be reading from some cue cards . . . debating an arcane economic principal with a colleague. . . tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, or smoothing an indiscernible wrinkle out of her skirt with the pads of her fingertips. But still, his eyes seemed to keep seeking her out in a crowd, like a guided missile heading toward its target.

He blamed her for this entirely, of course. If she hadn't said what she'd said to him . . . dropped that bombshell on his head, before cutting him out of her life entirely, he wouldn't be so . . . _distracted._

"Hey Don," Elliot exclaimed, snapping his fingers in front of the Executive Producer's face, as the pair walked down the corridor of the newsroom. "Did you hear a word of what I just said?"

Don blinked rapidly, as if coming out of a trance. "What? Oh, sorry," he replied dazedly, raising two fingers to his left temple.

Elliot followed Don's sightline, until his eyes landed, not surprisingly, on the leggy brunette in the corner of the room. "Geez! Just apologize to her, and be done with it already."

"Apologize?" Don asked incredulously. "For what?"

"For whatever it is you said that pissed her off," Elliot replied matter-of-factly, as he took a long slow sip of coffee from his grey ACN travel mug.

"And what makes you so sure I said something to piss her off?"

Elliot shrugged, as the pair turned the corner. "It's just that . . . well . . . you're not exactly the most tactful guy on the planet."

Don grimaced, clearly affronted. "I'm _plenty_ tactful," he insisted. "I mean, I'm not like a diplomat, or anything. But I wouldn't say I'm any less tactful than you or anyone else in this office."

"Oh, I'm way more tactful than you," Elliot retorted, with a cocksure grin.

Don raised his eyebrows. "All right, say something tactful to me, right now."

Elliot stopped walking, and thought for a second, before turning toward his colleague. "OK . . . sure," he began. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but that's not my favorite shirt of yours," he admitted, cocking his head to the side critically.

Don looked down at his black-and-white pinstripe shirt, and tugged on the fabric, self-consciously. "You have a _favorite_ shirt of mine?" He inquired dubiously.

Elliot stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You know, come to think of it, I _do_. It's that green one you wore last week. It really brings out the color in your eyes."

"Well, _that_ was disturbing," Don muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was at that moment that the men realized how oddly quiet the newsroom was. "Pretty grim here, huh? Who died?" Elliot asked loudly.

Don laughed, as he patted his friend congenially on the back. "You're right, Elliot. You are definitely much more tactful than I am," he offered sarcastically. "Hey, Sampat. What's going on here? Why is everyone so quiet?" He asked, as he approached the young reporter.

"It's the new healthcare bill," Neal explained, without looking up from his computer. "All these politicians claim to have really strong opinions about it. But it turns out, very few of them have actually taken the time to read all 906 pages of it. Tonight, News Night is going to tell the world exactly what's in that bill. But first, we've got to read it. So, we've each been assigned 30 pages to learn, and present to Will, within the next hour."

Don nodded, grudgingly impressed. "Hey," Elliot groused, poking Don in the ribs. "Why don't you ever let _our_ staff teach _me_ anything worthwhile that I can share with the public?"

"Because, most of the world already knows their multiplication tables," Don replied dryly.

"Har de har har," groaned Elliot.

"Hey, Elliot . . . Sampat," a female voice called out from behind the threesome.

"Hey Sloan," the two men replied in unison.

"Hi Sloan," echoed Don, a sly grin on his face.

Sloan glared at him pointedly, before stalking away.

"Dude! Apologize to her already," Neal scolded.

"What the _Hell_? Why does everyone assume this is my fault?" Don exclaimed in frustration.

Neal cracked his knuckles. "Don, when a woman like Sloan Sabbith is giving you the silent treatment, it is _always_ your fault. That's like the first rule of Guy Code."

Don rolled his eyes. "Don't you have something boring and tedious to memorize?" He retorted, waving his hand in the air haphazardly, as he walked toward Will's office.

Elliot smiled at Ned apologetically. "Don't mind him. He's just pissed off, because he knows he was a jerk to Sloan. And now, he's paying the price."

"I heard that, Elliot," Don called out angrily, as he rapped on Will's door.

When Don entered Will's office, the latter was so deeply engaged in one of his daily, passionate, How-Are-These-Two-Not-Sleeping-Together, arguments with Mackenzie McHale, that the news anchor barely acknowledged his presence.

"I will never understand why Republicans are so frightened by the concept of a public option," Mackenzie mused. "It is, by definition, a _choice._ I mean, isn't that what capitalism is all about? Letting consumers choose the best plan in a competitive marketplace?"

"But it's not a truly competitive marketplace, if one competitor is crowding the field," Will argued, leaning back in his office chair. "Allowing the government to _compete_ with the private sector is like having a 22-year old pitcher on a little league team."

"So, what you're saying is, the reason there shouldn't be a public option is that it would be _so_ much better than the private options that any customer would be out of their mind not to choose it?" Mackenzie retorted, her eyes glowing with a familiar fiery intensity she seemed to reserve just for her arguments with Will.

"I'm _saying _that, in five to ten years, a public option would drive most private insurers out of business. Once that happened, it would magically morph into a bastion of bureaucratic inefficiency, like the Post Office, or the DMV."

"You are such a fatalist," Mackenzie complained exasperatedly.

"And you are a closet socialist," Will replied.

"There you go again. Whenever you are in danger of losing an argument to me, you always pull out that old reliable Socialist Card," Mackenzie scolded, rising from her chair, with her hand on her hips.

"I'm _not _losing this argument, and you _are_ a socialist," rebuked Will, as he tried to keep from smirking.

Don knocked on the door again, a bit louder this time.

"Well, well . . .if it isn't my old EP," Will pronounced wryly. "Come in . . . and, while you're at it, tell Mackenzie she's a socialist."

Mackenzie responded by crumpling a piece of notebook paper into a ball, and tossing it unceremoniously at Will's head.

"Uh . . . I just came to drop off tonight's transition for the 10 o'clock," Don explained, having no desire at all to involve himself in Mackenzie's and Will's foreplay-disguised-as-political-banter. "I hear you guys are tackling the healthcare bill tonight. Pretty ambitious."

"Don, I'm glad you're here. I have something important to discuss with you," said Mackenzie, as Don handed off the cue cards.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" Don asked, as he leaned back against the wall.

"I need you to be a man, and apologize to Sloan. This little tiff you two are having is giving the office a negative aura, and it's making us all very uncomfortable. "

Will shrugged his shoulders. "Not me. I couldn't be more comfortable," he offered.

"He's lying. Will could barely pour his coffee this morning, he was so upset," Mackenzie fibbed, offering Will a pointed look.

Don put his palm to his forehead. "OK. This has got to stop. I am not apologizing, because I did _nothing_ wrong. Will, help me out here."

Will shook his head. "Sorry buddy. I would have totally taken your side on this one, except, you refused to call Mackenzie a socialist, when I asked you to do so nicely."

Don rolled his eyes. "So, am I correct in assuming that basically everyone in the office blames me for this?"

"Pretty much, yeah," replied Will.

"Just talk to her, Don. Get her to open up to you. You might be surprised by what she has to say," Mackenzie advised.

"That's an understatement," Don muttered under his breath, as he left Will's office and walked straight down the hall . . . toward Sloan's . . .

Don entered Sloan's office abruptly, and without knocking. He then closed the door behind him and leaned his back against it, with a smug expression on his face that belied the frustrating sense of panic that was racing through his body.

Sloan looked up, startled. She allowed her eyes to meet his, for a single, emotionally charged, moment, and then, immediately, cursed herself for doing so. _Maybe he didn't notice,_ she thought to herself, as she tried in vain to focus on the stock report on her computer screen.

"Just so you know, I'm not leaving here, until you talk to me. And neither are _you_," Don explained with a casual shrug.

Sloan responded to this threat, by aggressively typing on her computer . . . the loud clack of her keys voicing her stubborn retort. Don smiled. "That's OK. I've got time. But do you? I happen to know that you have to be on the air in two hours. Now, you probably don't think I have the fortitude to stand here blocking your door for that long. And you might be right."

"But I also happen to notice that large, 20 ounce, coffee you have on your desk," Don continued. "And I'm guessing it's not your first one of the day . . . which means that, probably, in about 15 minutes, you are going to desperately need to use the ladies' room."

Sloan grimaced. She had been doing just fine. Then, Don mentioned the coffee, and suddenly, she had to pee like a racehorse. "Bastard," she muttered under her breath.

Don grinned cheekily, cupping his hand around his ear. "I'm sorry, what was that? That couldn't possibly have been the sound of Sloan Sabbith deigning to speak to me, after six weeks of radio silence. Someone alert the media. Oh . . . wait . . . we _are the media."_

"Go away, Don," Sloan grumbled.

"Hmmm . . . . let me think about that for a moment . . . no."

Sloan sighed, "Go away, before I head right down to HR and file a claim against you for false imprisonment.

Don smirked. "Oh, you're going down to HR? I'll walk with you."

Sloan narrowed her eyes. "Listen, I told you how this was going to be."

"Yeah, you did," Don admitted, smiling ruefully. "I guess I just didn't think you were serious."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a serious person," Sloan replied tonelessly.

"Yes, you are," Don agreed.

"So, are we done here?" Sloan asked coldly. "Because, I really do have to pee . . . Thanks for that, by the way."

"Just . . . wait . . . please?" Don pleaded, taking a deep breath, before speaking again. "Let's try to be practical about this. So . . . you told me you used to have a crush on me. It's no big deal! We're both adults. It doesn't have to change anything between us, or make things weird."

_Used to._ Don's use of the past tense to describe Sloan's feelings for him wasn't lost on her. Her first instinct was to correct him. Of course, she realized that would probably be counterproductive. After all, if Don truly believed that Sloan's romantic feelings for him had ceased, it would be that much easier for things to go back to normal between them. And that was what she wanted. _Wasn't it?_

"It's too late. Things have already changed between us," Sloan admitted dejectedly.

"You're right, they did . . . BECAUSE YOU STOPPED TALKING TO ME," Don exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"It's not just that. It's the way you look at me now," Sloan insisted, turning away from him.

"How do I look at you?" Don asked, his voice softening.

Sloan rose from her chair, and walked slowly toward the office window. "Like you feel sorry for me," she replied, shyly.

Don shook his head. "Sloan, no one could possibly look at someone as gorgeous and brilliant as you are, and ever feel sorry for you,"

Sloan turned abruptly toward him, as the impact of Don's words washed over them both. Don blinked hard, and bit his lower lip nervously, while he waited for Sloan's response.

"You think that I'm . . ." Sloan began tentatively.

"Obviously, I do," Don interrupted solemnly.

Sloan nodded, trying to fight the smile that was threatening to upturn the corners of her mouth. "You will never feel comfortable talking about Maggie with me again," she posited, deftly changing the subject.

Don grinned. "So? You hate when I talk to you about Maggie."

"Well," Sloan began diplomatically. "Yeah, you're right. I totally hate when you talk to me about Maggie."

Don walked across the room toward Sloan, surprising her by firmly placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her body to face his. "It's just that . . . I miss you, Sloan. I miss _us."_

She realized, in that moment, just how close he was to her. She became acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers . . . the subtle musk of his cologne, and the way his chest rose and fell, as he exhaled. Sloan looked into Don's eyes then, and saw something she hadn't seen before . . . _inevitability_ . . . the promise of something more . . . maybe not now, but _soon._

"I missed us too," Sloan whispered_._


End file.
